I Gave Birth to You — Where’s My Shrine, Dammit?

Don’t you just love it that you turned your body into an Easy Bake oven for 9 months, watched your size 8 feet expand into the new and improved size 9’s, traded in your stomach for that of a marsupials pouch, breast fed in exchange for a nice pair of fried eggs and, wait for it…parted ways with most of your brain cells, so now you don’t even know why your standing in the middle of the garage right now…“What did I come in here for?”

All this goodness you went through only to have your kids dis you in the morning. Complain that you didn’t pour “enough” apple juice. Complain that you didn’t wash their skinny jeans that were on their floor instead of in the actual hamper. Give you flack for being late to the fourth sporting event you’ve missed work for to attend this week. Give you a hard time for missing that one field trip instead of appreciating the 32 others you came for. Showing disdain for you taking up their air space in the car.

My point is this: I actually have two really good kids. But when they show a lack of respect and forget to acknowledge me for the maternal goddess that I am, I get pissed. Sometimes I have to hold back tears because, simply put, it hurts my heart to give so much and then get a “you let me down and you disgust me” look or response.

“REALLY?! That’s how you wanna play it?”

(DISCLAIMER: my mother may read this) Don’t get me wrong, I was no angel to my mother all the time. (She’s laughing hysterically right now) There were hundreds of times that I forgot to thank her. Forgot to appreciate her. Remembered to chastise her and secretly blew her up with my mind powers. I was the quintessential poster child for pure unadulterated rudeness. (I have since been granted pardon after graveling on my knees and begging her forgiveness for what an ass I could be.)

I have no problem asking for, no, demanding respect. That’s not the problem. I guess it would just be nice if they gave it on their own ALL THE TIME. Maybe it’s because I’m PMSing. [WARNING: Please disregard this entire post; I’m under the influence of the Death Star.] It’s just that it gets old. All the asking. All the telling. All the reminding. All the doing.

I believe I will practice a new response from now on. When they show disrespect (cause let’s face it, they will) I will simply respond with, “Thank you, I love you too.”